Forgotten
by Kaila.Nicole
Summary: When I talk to him late at night, I tell him what’s really going on. That I miss him talking to me or miss him say my name. 'Why can’t you remember' I cried, pressing my cheek to his shoulder, my hand running through his charcoal hair." Fax!


**Yes, so, it appears that I have been on a writing withdrawal for the past two months or so. After this realization struck me, I jumped into the depths of my mind and tried to pull out a new idea for a story. **

**This is what I found: **

_Cover my eyes  
Cover my ears  
Tell me these words are a lie  
It can't be true  
That I'm losing you  
The sun cannot fall from the sky_

As I sat in my uncomfortable hospital chair, you know, the ones with the fake wooden legs and upholstery from the 1970's, I contemplated on just how ironic the situation I'm in was. While I'm plotting over this fact, some food from his bologna and mustard sandwich spills onto his chin. The hand not feeding him the lunch automatically rises up with a napkin, dabbing off the yellow crust at the corners of his mouth, and the little droplet that has settled itself on his chin.

Sometimes, he will look at me and smile, his way of saying "Thank you." Other times, he barely notices at all, and his eyes stay glued to whatever TV show the hospital has provided us with for the day. So far, I've watched every episode of _Friends_, _How I Met Your Mother_, and I've seen halfway through _Freeway_, a movie featuring Reese Witherspoon. While I enjoyed it, after thirty minutes of viewing, it appeared that he did not, so I changed the channel to some cartoons. He doesn't like the news stations because they confuse him. When nurses come into the room, they have to bite their tongue at information from the President or who won the title as _American Idol_. To him, George W. Bush is still running the country and Carrie Underwood just made her big breakthrough.

The Alzheimer's attacked roughly two years ago, after our eldest daughter married some fancy doctor. And yes, I get the irony. At first, the occasional memory loss didn't seem so much of a problem.

Forgot to tie your shoes? Don't worry, honey, I do it sometimes too.

Forgot the number to my cell phone? I'll just write it down next to the kitchen phone.

Forgot how to put on clothes or forgot your own best friend and wife's name? That's when the problems truly started hitting him hard. Hitting us, his family, hard.

The irony of the situation was so odd, though. I mean, we grew up in cages; we were experimented on and tortured, and _still_ lived to be sixty-three years old. Then all of a sudden, _wham_, this horrible disease struck. When I talk to our three kids and the rest of the Flock over the phone, I tell them I'm fine, and that he's doing all right, we're just taking it day by day. When I talk to him late at night, I tell him what's _really_ going on. That I miss him talking to me, miss him say my name, or miss him telling me he loves me.

After the bologna and mustard sandwich, the nurse came in to check on his blood sugar level and hand me some of his mid-afternoon pills with his regular Aricept thrown in to "slow down" the Alzheimer's.

The nurse smiled at him, fluffing his pillow while he took his medication.

"How are you feeling, Fang?" She asked politely and he stayed silent, glancing up at her and then back to the TV. She caught my eye and half-smiled, the smile people give you when they're telling you that your cat just got ran over. But he wasn't my cat, he was my _husband_. There was even a ring on his finger to prove it. After the nurse left, I clicked off the TV and set the remote near Fang's hand. After a few moments, he seemed to realize that his favorite afternoon showing had disappeared, and in response, made a little noise in his throat, glancing over at me, then the remote.

"You do it," I told him, pushing my faded blonde hair out of my face. Even though the Flock was pushing close to retirement age, we still looked as if we weren't even fifty. Maybe I should notify all those wrinkle cream agencies and tell them to inject avian genes into all of their patients. "Do it, Fang. Turn on the TV. The remote's right there," I repeated and motioned to the clicker that was eight or so inches from his right hand. Still, his eyes gazed at me as if he were blind, his chocolate irises no longer piercing my most inner thoughts the way they had when we were younger. When he could talk and walk and press buttons on the remote without even having to think about it. Now he couldn't even do those, even if he _wanted_ to try.

"Damn it, Fang, turn on the TV!" My fist slammed down against his hospital bed, causing the metal frame to rattle. Fang blinked, watching me as I fell apart next to him. If it had been anytime before these past two years, he would have held me tight, kissed my forehead and calmed me down with his blunt logic that I had always found so irritating. Now I just wished for him to fucking _talk_. He couldn't even tell me if he was in pain or if he needed to go to the bathroom. "Why can't you remember?" I cried, pressing my cheek to his shoulder, my hand running through his faded charcoal hair.

"Why can't you remember who I am?" As usual, he didn't reply to me. If I had expected a miracle, I was going to be seriously disappointed. But I hadn't been expecting one, and yet, I was still disappointed, more in myself than in Fang. How could I have not noticed? There were warning signs, but when you grow up as a bird kid on the run and then finally settle down with your own family, it seems like nothing worse could happen, because you've already gone through the worst possible. Of course, fate had never been on my side from the get-go.

Fang shifted where he lay, dazed and confused as he watched my performance. Who knew, maybe he _was_ thinking that he was watching a movie.

After I dried my eyes, I kissed my husband on the forehead and left the room, but not before clicking on the television set before leaving. Once again, Fang's eyes darted up to the screen, content in viewing a new 2057 Cadillac by an overweight salesman, the kind that sleep with their secretaries and beat their wives into depression. The door clicked behind me softly, the metallic sound ringing in my ears even after I'd taken off to the skies.

Around three in the morning the following day I received the phone call, from the half-smiling nurse who informed me that The End had come. I wondered if she was half-smiling now, or if she just had on a thin, straight face, since I wasn't around. I also wondered if she would dub me crazy if she could see _my_ face, with the way my smile was lighting up the immediate area around me. Fang's smiles used to do that and now they could, but not here on Earth, where his face remained at a constant stoic expression.

After hanging up with the hospital and calling all of the Flock and my children, I made myself a great, big cup of coffee and sat out on the back porch, which gave me a gorgeous view of the Atlantic Ocean. Our son Nathan, the real estate agent, had informed Fang and I we were crazy to buy such a small house to be on such a large beach in Florida. But Fang and I just didn't see the need to have a mansion if we were the only ones living there, with Avella getting married and our other daughter, Cale, opening up her own photography studio.

Now, I watched the tiny rays of sun peak slowly over the horizon, bringing the clouds from a dull gray to a slight orange and pink tint.

"I don't know why you drink that stuff. I told you it would kill you," Fang spoke to me from my right, looking no older than twenty-five. I grinned, shaking my head, noticing my hair was now to my shoulders and not to mention restored back to its full color. Glancing down, I noticed my skin was tight and thin, not sagged and wrinkled in areas. It seemed like the end of Titanic, where the old lady dies and is placed back on the ship with her lover. I placed my coffee cup down to touch my face, feeling it smooth and doll-like underneath my fingers.

"Is this what it was like for you?" I turned to Fang, who flashed me one of his rare smiles.

"Meaning what?"

"Is this what death was like for you?"

He was quiet for a moment, watching the sun inserting itself into the world, spreading light over the white sandy beach below. The salt air tickled my nose as I breathed in, enjoying the feeling of youth once again.

"Well, I have to say I didn't have to comfort of a stunning sunrise or you by my side… but yeah," He caught my gaze and held it, "it was pretty awesome. Especially after all that time of not being able to speak or tell you that I love you." See the bluntness? God only knows why I put up with him, even when he _can_ be the romantic.

"You ready to go?" Fang asked me as he stood, his hand held out as the sunrise behind him grew brighter, illuminating everything in an ivory shade. I nodded, jumping up and taking a hold of his warm hand. My sudden action jostled the arm of the Adirondack chair I'd been sitting in, causing my coffee cup to fall off and crash onto the deck. The brown liquid seeped onto the wooden boards, moving around the shattered pieces of the blue cup. I glanced up at Fang and shrugged, smiling innocently as he rolled his eyes at me.

"C'mon, woman. Let's get out of here before you cause any more trouble," He smirked and we moved towards the light that was gradually slipping around us. Taking a final glance at the porch, I noted the smile set upon my older self's face as she sat in the chair, quiet and still.

As I disappeared into the light with Fang, I left her contemplating on just how ironic the situation we were in was. Although, truthfully, those Adirondack chairs are much more comfortable than the hospital ones.

_I'm ninety-nine for a moment  
Dying for just another moment  
And I'm just dreaming  
Counting the ways to where you are  
Fifteen there's still time for you  
Twenty-two I feel her too  
Thirty-three you're on your way  
Every day's a new day...  
Time to buy and time to choose  
Hey fifteen, there's never a wish better than this  
When you only got 100 years to live_

**As always and forever, read and review, please!**

**Whew. Done. Can't believe this only took me… three hours to complete. That's also including the amount of time it took me to finish coughing, since I'm having horrible allergies. The church crowd is going to love me, huh? I can see it now, my pastor saying a prayer and I'm hacking up in the back like some chain-smoker. Joy. Ha, ha. **

**Here's some good facts for you:**

**The songs in this story were: Tears of An Angel by RyanDan and then 100 Years by Five For Fighting.**

**As many as ****5.3 million people****in the United States are living with Alzheimer's.**

**Every ****70 seconds,** **someone develops Alzheimer's.**

**As I was typing up this story, I saw seven, count 'em, seven ads for Alzheimer's medication. Which would explain the random pop in for Aricept in this. **


End file.
